


Say Something

by MyTARDISsenseIsTingling



Category: Sherlock - Fandom
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Fluffy Smut, Handcuffs, Kortney, Smut, Spoilers, dance lessons, don't read if you haven't seen series 3 of Sherlock yet, i'm giving up on you, is that a thing?, say something
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-14
Updated: 2014-01-14
Packaged: 2018-01-08 16:11:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1134763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MyTARDISsenseIsTingling/pseuds/MyTARDISsenseIsTingling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>My first Sherlolly short fic! Get excited.  Prompted by my wonderful, lovely, overall awesome friend Kortney, a.k.a tumblr user the-lady-of-mirkwood, after the particular events that took place in "The Sign of Three"</p><p>Original "prompt":<br/>IF ANYONE LOVES ME PLEASE FOR THE LOVE OF GOD MAKE A FIC OF SHERLOCK TEACHING MOLLY HOW TO DANCE THAT THEN LEADS TO THE HANDCUFFS!!</p><p>My answer: I VOLUNTEER AS TRIBUTE!!!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Say Something

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TheLadyofMirkwood](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLadyofMirkwood/gifts).



Knock. Just knock.

Why was she hesitating?

It was ridiculous really, there should be no reason whatsoever why it would be hard to knock on the door of 221b Baker Street. Yet here Molly Hooper stood, frozen to the spot, her fist suspended above the polished wood, unable to move. 

It wasn’t like it was the old days after all. She’d moved on, of course. No more trailing like a sad puppy after the great Sherlock Holmes’ every beck and call. No more sad and pathetic Molly who would do anything he asked without question because she’d been so hopelessly and madly in love. No, Molly was long past that. She’d moved on. She was getting married a matter of weeks and she was quite happy to be doing so, thank you very much. Not to mention, it was Sherlock who was answering her call for help this time. He was the one who was making time for her, moving his plans around for her. There was something very satisfying in that.

Yet she still hadn’t knocked.

With a nervous twitch, she felt a sudden shock as her fist seemed to move almost of its own accord, then, heart racing, she allowed it to make contact with the door with a sharp tap before she could talk herself out of it again. She knocked three times.

“Molly dear!”

It was Mrs. Hudson who came to let her in. Not entirely sure why, Molly breathed a sigh of relief. Of course. It was always Mrs. Hudson who answered the front door. She didn’t have to be blown away by the sight of him immediately! Not that that was going to happen, of course.

“Come in, come in, Sherlock’s just upstairs, he said you’d be by though. Is he really going to teach you to dance?” Mrs. Hudson twittered away as she led Molly up the stairs, giggling madly at the thought of Sherlock dancing.

“Yes! I don’t have much rhythm myself. I could really use the help. Don’t want to stomp all over Tom’s feet at the wedding, you know!”  
She laughed with Mrs. Hudson as they knocked on the door leading into Sherlock’s flat. Violin music inside was abruptly cut off and his enticing baritone commanded them to come in.  
No. Not enticing, Molly reminded herself. Completely normal. Lower than the average voice, yes, but completley normal. Just normal and ordinary and sexy and-

“Molly! So nice to see you.”

The door had swung open and he was there, smiling his closed-lipped smile, the one that didn’t seem to reach quite to his eyes. Molly felt a pang of sympathy for him. There had been a time, for a few months after he’d gotten back from faking his death for two years, when the smile had reached all the way to his eyes. Those days were the happiest she’d ever seen Sherlock. It was like his years away had brought back an entirely new man; still just as much of an insufferable know-it-all as ever, but with a new spring in his step. It was like for the first time he’d truly been trying to make connections with people, trying to let them all know how much they meant to him. 

He’d even given her a special day, invited her to join him as he accepted cases in 221b and investigated the current terrorist plot on London. He’d smiled and welcomed her input and been overall really wonderful. And then he’d admitted that she mattered. Which of course she already knew, but it was nice to hear him admit it for once. The whole day had been everything she’d ever dreamed of but had never dared to hope for. And then… and then she’d looked back at her ring. And with a pang of guilt, she’d realized that she hadn’t thought of Tom all day. That couldn’t be right. Your fiancée was definitely supposed to be the one that you thought of all the time instead of other men.  
Well, so she assumed, anyway. She’d never really had a fiancée before. 

It was from that moment on that she decided it would probably be best if she kept her distance from Sherlock. She was sure he still didn’t have feelings for her of any kind, because although he’d undergone a few changes, she was still fairly sure he wasn’t even capable of such emotions. Therefore it would really be better if she just sort of stayed away from him for the most part. She saw him a few times of course, in casual kinds of interactions. In fact it was almost as though right as she decided she needed some distance, Sherlock wanted to chat more often. Once he swung by the morgue when he wanted help planning John’s bachelor party right before the wedding. That was funny. She never did get any word on how the bar hopping had gone that night…

When the thought came about that it might be good for Molly to take some lessons in dancing before the wedding, Sherlock was of course the first person that jumped to her mind. She knew he’d learned for John’s wedding. Mrs. Hudson had told her in a fit of giggles one day that she’d walked in on Sherlock attempting to dance. And he wasn’t half bad! But then he’d never really gotten to show off his dancing skills. Molly looked for him on the dance floor at the wedding reception, but it was too late. He was already leaving. She’d thought about going after them, but then she’d turned back to Tom and thought… well… maybe it was better for her not to.

But ever since she hadn’t been able to shake the detective’s face out of her mind as he left. He looked sad again. Sadder than she’d ever seen him, even sadder than he’d looked before the fall. So that was how Molly had almost entirely convinced herself that she was asking Sherlock for dancing lessons out of pity for his loneliness. That was it. No other reason.

“I’ll leave you to it then!” Mrs. Hudson trilled cheerfully, and shut the door behind her as she left Sherlock’s flat.  
The first few moments alone were slightly on the awkward side. Molly could feel Sherlock’s piercing gaze on her as she stepped further into the room, and she determinedly tried to shake off the shiver it sent up her back. But she took off her coat to hang up by the door and said, in a voice that she hoped was as close to normal as possible, “Thanks for agreeing to do this for me, Sherlock. You’re a lifesaver!”

“Well considering the fact that you were greatly instrumental in actually saving my life not too long ago I feel it’s the least I can do.”  
She turned to face him again and found his gaze steady on her: warm and pleasant. Was it her or had the smile started to reach his eyes again? It was probably just her imagination. But he did seem pleased to see her, at least. She took another deep breath.  
Tom. Think of Tom. This is for Tom.

“So… what are we learning today?”  
Molly smiled up at Sherlock as she drew nearer to him, trying not to shake. Unfortunately, her body was turning traitor at the most inconvenient time and the tremors wouldn’t stop involuntarily coursing through her, especially in her hands. She began to put a great deal of focus into forcing them still. Sherlock, meanwhile, didn’t help as he gave her the most torturous of mischievous smirks and leaned down to press play on a recorder, filling the room once again with violin music. 

“Just something I recorded earlier. We’re going to be learning a simple waltz first, then maybe moving onto more advanced steps. I’ve learned quite a few actually.”  
He looked quite proud of himself as he looked back up at Molly, an expression familiar to his severe yet strangely beautiful face. He always looked so proud of himself. Sometimes Molly wanted to smack that expression right off, but most of the time, though she hated to admit it, she really just found it endearing. 

“Oh? And how did you manage all that?” she shot him a knowing glance. 

“Took a few classes…”

Molly raised her eyebrows at him.

“…On YouTube…”

“Aha that’s what I thought! Mary said you’d gotten addicted after the napkin incident.”

“I don’t know what she means by that.”

Sherlock tried to brush it off, but Molly was still giggling.

“Yes fine, alright, why don’t we just get to the dancing?”

“Right so I’ll just…”

Her hand tremors had subsided at the chance of getting to make fun of Sherlock, but she could feel her jitters rapidly returning as they walked forward, drawing slowly nearer to each other. He looked slightly awkward as well, probably because he wasn’t quite so used to giving dance lessons. He cleared his throat.

“The proper positioning is as follows. You put your left hand on my shoulder…”

Molly did as he instructed, feeling the bulk of his ropey muscles beneath his usual suit. It drew her attention to how little she actually got to touch the detective. Not… not that she felt the need to touch him more, or anything. No, she got plenty of that from Tom…

“And then my hand goes around your waist, as so…”

Molly let Sherlock rest his hand just above her pelvic bone and, still annoyed with herself for her previous thoughts, forced any extra sensation she might have felt at his touch to the far-reaching depths of the darkest corners of her mind. 

“And then I’ll take your hand like this.”

Sherlock took her other hand and held it out to the side. Molly looked from their clasped hands slowly up to his face, trying to brace herself for the intense blue gaze she knew was waiting for her. But there it was, just as striking as always. Molly was also suddenly painfully aware of the proximity of their faces to each other. They were so close…

“Right. So, the first steps. I’m sure you’re at least somewhat aware of a waltz count, correct?”

“Umm… sorry.” Molly gave him a sheepish smile and shook her head. Sherlock stared at her incredulously.

“Never?”

“No Sherlock, never.”

“Not even in movies? Surely this happens in movies. You watch movies don’t you?”

“Yes Sherlock, I watch movies. But no, I guess I skipped Footloose and Dirty Dancing one too many times?”

“Dirty Dancing? But we’re not—”

“No, Sherlock, it’s the name of the movie.”

“I’ll take your word for it.”  
Was it Molly’s imagination or did he look flustered? She decided not to comment on it.

“The count that you’re going to follow is the 3:4 time in written music, so it sounds like 1, 2, 3, 1, 2, 3… And it’s a pretty simple step, the one that they use for waltzes. Watch where my feet go.”

Molly obeyed and looked down quickly, relieved to have an excuse to break eye contact with him.

“It’s sort-of a box shape. That’s how they described it in the video. See this foot goes here, and this one here, and then you step back, and they kind of do the same thing. And then you repeat. See how the shape I’m making looks a bit like a square?”

As Sherlock kept a running commentary on the motions of his feet, Molly couldn’t help but glance back up at his expression. His eyes were lighting up in a way that usually meant that there was a murder for him to solve. 

“You really like this, don’t you?” she remarked with a laugh. Sherlock fixed her with a look, and for a moment Molly thought he might be offended, but he broke into another closed-lipped smile. This one made its way even closer to his eyes.

“I will tell you a secret, Molly Hooper. I’ve always loved to dance.”

“Seriously?”

“Why is this so hard to believe?”

“I don’t know,” Molly grinned at him. “It just doesn’t seem like a ‘you’ kind of thing, I guess.”

“Well, now you know.”

“Yeah, I do.”

“Were you even paying attention to that dance step?”

“No sorry not really.”

“Okay really watch this time.”

Sherlock repeated the step patiently and Molly tried to do a better job of watching exactly what he did this time. It didn’t seem so hard. Sherlock pulled it off with great ease, actually. But of course, when it came time for Molly to join, things got considerably more complicated. 

“Ow that would be my foot…”

“Oh sorry! Sorry!”

Molly put her hands over her mouth, having just dismally failed at yet another attempt at the waltz and stomped on Sherlock’s toes instead. She stood back allowing him to shake it out, still wincing slightly.

“Sorry!” she apologized again.

“It’s fine,” he answered, though he sounded considerably less patient and definitely grumpier now. “Let’s just… try that again.”

He stood back up, positioning his hands back on Molly. They began the pattern again.

“Ouch!”

“Sorry! Sorry! I’m really sorry, Sherlock.

“I just don’t understand. This is one of the easiest dance steps to learn. I figured it out from a YouTube video…”

“Yeah well everyone’s not you.”

“I know but wouldn’t it be much easier if they were?”

“I can leave, if you want, you know. I’m sure there’s someone else who could teach me.”

“No, no, Sorry. It’s fine. We’ll just try again.”

It took a few more tries. And yes, Molly stepped on Sherlock’s foot once more. But finally, finally, about half an hour later, she seemed to be starting to get the hang of it.

“That’s better!” Sherlock exclaimed approvingly.

“Really you think so?”

“Well your form is still sloppy and eventually you’re going to need to stop looking down at your feet so much but yes loads better.”

Molly rolled her eyes. She focused on keeping the steps in tempo with the recording of Sherlock playing the violin, but it did seem to be getting easier. After a few more minutes, she and Sherlock had fallen into an easy rhythm, moving together in near perfect sync. She liked the feeling of sweeping around the room in his arms, though she hated to admit it to herself. As their eyes met again, Molly realized a slight frown had crept across Sherlock’s face while she’d been focused elsewhere.

“Something wrong?” she asked.

“How’s Tom?”

“Tom? Why?”

“Just… how are the two of you doing?”

“We’re great! I mean we’re getting married so… it’s great. Really great.”

“No it isn’t.”

“What are you talking about, Sherlock?”

“Bags under your eyes, suggesting lack of sleep. The way you’re holding your neck. Is it stiff?”

“Yes but-”

“Stiff neck, suggestive of numerous consecutive nights spent somewhere other than a bed, such as a sofa or maybe an office chair…”

“Are you seriously-”

“When you walked in you kept fiddling with your wedding ring, suggesting you might rather not be wearing it-”

“Would you stop?” They’d stopped dancing now, although the mockingly sweet violin music continued to fill the room. Molly threw Sherlock’s hands from her and took a step back from him. “Stop deducing me.”

“Molly,” Sherlock’s voice had grown extremely quiet and taken on a tone Molly had never heard from him before. It was like he was trying to keep himself calm. Suddenly, he was the one unable to make eye contact with her. “Do you want to marry Tom?”

“Of course I do! We’ve been dating for a little over a year now I think I’d know if I actually want to marry him or not.”

“Would you though?”

“Yes!”

Molly could feel her cheeks burning hot and her heart racing. Somewhere in her sub consciousness, she could feel herself teetering on the edge of something: a truth that she didn’t want to admit, even to herself. It felt like a thousand suppressed thoughts were pressing on some kind of dam she’d built in her mind trying to break through all at once as she and Sherlock stood frozen, eyes locked on one another.  
Molly became suddenly aware that her eyes were beginning to well up with emotion. Frustrated, cursing herself at showing such weakness in front of Sherlock, she turned quickly to head for the door.

“I should be going-”

“Molly wait-”

“No Sherlock, I really-”

“Molly.”

She’d just reached the doorway when she felt him grab her arm and pull her back. 

“Sherlock, what-”

There was a clicking noise and Molly felt something cold and metallic slide around her right wrist, then her left. After her momentary confusion wore off, it finally registered that he’d handcuffed her to the arm of a big shelf anchored to the wall just on the other side of the door. She looked down behind her, jangling at the cuffs, trying to slip out of them to no avail.

“What the actual fucking hell,” she shouted angrily. Looking back up at Sherlock, who was standing extremely close in front of her, and had not yet entirely let his arms fall from where he’d pinned hers behind her back. She could see his chest rising and falling rapidly where he hadn’t quite caught his breath, his eyes wide with alarm. Panic? Hmmm that one was new, as far as Molly had ever seen.

“Do you just carry these around with you at all times?” she asked, struggling uselessly against them yet again. “You can’t just hold someone against their will, you know. Many would call that kidnapping.”

“I couldn’t allow you to leave.”

“I don’t think you have any real say in what I do and don’t do, thanks.”

“But I just… I can’t allow you to… do this…”

“Do what?”

He looked back up, and the expression that Molly would have thought was desperation if she didn’t know any better quickly dropped away. His eyes bored into her with such ferocity that she tried to look away again, but it was hard with their faces inches apart. She tried to focus on a spot on the ceiling on the other side of the room. But it was too late.

“Dilated pupils. Increased pulse. Signs of increase in certain hormonal activities. I’ve made a similar deduction on someone else before: you’re still in love with me, Molly Hooper.”

“Sherlock… don’t.”

“Fine, fine. But you’re not in love with Tom, are you.”

It wasn’t a question. Molly could feel her resolve breaking as her eyes slid back from the ceiling to meet his again. She began to tremble slightly as more and more cracks began to appear in her mental dam.

“He snores!” she finally exploded. And there it was. The first hole. Then the rest of the dam broke.  
“He thinks he knows everything, which is an act you can only pull off if you actually do know everything, which he doesn’t. He leaves his dishes in the sink all the time. Expects me to just do it all, when I’ve had a long hard day at the morgue too, you know? Not that that matters to him, he thinks my job can’t be nearly as time-consuming or as fucking important as his. ‘Live people are more important than dead ones.’ He always says. But do you know what he does? He’s a dentist. Do you know how utterly boring dentists are? It’s like trying to chat up a wall. I hadn’t had an intelligent conversation in a week until I showed up here today. And then in bed, don’t even get me started, I don’t even remember the last time I-”  
Sherlock raised his eyebrows. Molly regained some control over her mouth and quickly snapped it shut to stop the onslaught of confessions that she hadn’t exactly been planning on releasing. 

“The last time you what?”

“Nothing.”

Sherlock’s scrutinizing gaze raked down her, and she had the mortifying feeling he’d already deduced exactly what she meant. Trying to ignore the burning she could feel in her cheeks, she gave a frustrated sigh.

“There Sherlock. I’m not in love with Tom. I said it. Are you happy? You got to be right one more time? Ruin one more relationship in my life?”

“In fairness I didn’t really ruin Moriarty, you dumped him yourself and then he turned out to be a psychopath bent on killing me so…”

“SHOVE IT UP YOUR ARSE, YOU FUCKING PRICK.” It felt very good to raise her voice finally. Get some shock on that smug pretty face. Though she couldn’t help but feel like her frustration would have been more intimidating if her hands weren’t cuffed behind her to a bookcase.  
“YOU GOT YOUR WAY. Now let me go.”

Sherlock didn’t move. His face was still very close. Molly didn’t dare break eye contact this time, shooting him as much of a challenging glare as she could manage. Then, somewhere in the icy blue depths she was staring into, she thought she saw something soften.

“And you do still love me, don’t you.”

“Sherlock…” Molly leaned her head back in frustration, fighting the urge to break into tears again. Why did he feel this need to emotionally torture her? Perhaps she’d been wrong. Maybe the Sherlock who’d come back to London was the same Sherlock as ever. Always needing to cut her down every chance he got. She was a fool to think he’d changed.

“The signs are all there. You do.” 

She couldn’t take it anymore. She jerked her head back up to face him.

“If I do… it doesn’t matter. Just leave me be, please. I’ll never bother you for anything ever again. Just please… stop.”

And then Sherlock gave her very strange look. He looked pained. Like he was having his own inner struggle. He backed away from her, his hands kneading his temples. And suddenly, a new thought occurred to Molly.

“Sherlock… This isn’t about torturing me, is it?”

“No, Molly, it isn’t. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-”

“Why do you care so much who I love and who I get married to, then?”

Sherlock froze. Slowly, he met her eyes.

“Sherlock… if there’s something you need to say, say it.”

“I just… I would really prefer it if you elected not to marry Tom.”

“Then you have to say something.”

He opened his mouth, but no sound came out. He looked like a lost puppy in the street.

“Say something, Sherlock! Say something, or I swear I’m giving up on you. I am. I can’t do this anymore and I just-”

But in a single swift step he’d closed the distance between them again, pausing for just one more second when his face was inches away from hers. It appeared he might be fighting a mental dam he’d built of his own, but it was a lost cause. Any emotional blocks he might have had were washed away in a rush all at once and then he was kissing her. She heard herself give a small gasp that was lost against his lips as she responded with enthusiasm. Then he drew away slowly, and she could feel his breath rattling shakily in harmony with her own. She opened her eyes, mouth agape in disbelief. The look he greeted her with was unprecedented. She’d have never seen so much vulnerability in the stony face she knew so well.  
“I love you, Molly Hooper.”

His voice was even lower than usual, husky, half a whisper, but the words reached her clear as a bell. And then he was kissing her again with even greater gusto than before. His hands found the sides of her head to draw her in, and she could feel his fingers accidentally pull a few strands of hair free from the ponytail she had them up in. He straightened up, guiding her face with him, and gently drew her lips apart with his own, deepening the kiss. Their tongues brushed lightly. Molly felt like every sense in her body had been awakened from a 3-year-long sleep. As Sherlock’s lips wandered off to leave a shiver-inducing trail down her neck, she whispered, “Unlock me.”

Sherlock paused looking up with a smirk. “Oh right! Almost forgot.”

And a moment later after a brief search through his pockets for the key, Molly’s hands were free. She pulled the detective back in again for another long kiss, relieved for the chance to hold him back just as tightly as he was holding her. She allowed her hands to drift upwards and ran her fingers through his soft dark curls, something she’d wanted to do for years, reveling in the sweetness of the moment. She could feel the fabric of her shirt bunching up behind her as he held her, exposing the bare flesh of her lower back. Sherlock delicately stroked a finger along it. Then they broke apart again breathlessly, eyes wide. 

“You could have probably done this without the handcuffs, you know.” Molly said, finally.

“You would have walked away again.”

“Yeah, I probably would have.”

“I couldn’t let you.”

When he took her in to kiss her again, trapping her arms against his chest as he embraced her, his hands found their way to the back of her shirt, lifting it up.

“Here let me help with that…”

Molly lifted the shirt over her head, exposing nothing but her pale pink lace bra underneath. 

“Better?” she asked slyly. He smirked back at her. “Getting there,” he answered, leaning in and kissing her.

“Now hold on! You don’t get all the fun.”

He paused for a second, confused about what she meant, then realized and stepped back to quickly undo the buttons of his shirt letting it fall away to expose his lean, taught torso. Molly stroked the subtly visible outlines of his abdominal muscles that she was fairly sure had not been there before his long trip, although in retrospect she supposed she didn’t actually know that for sure.

“Damn. What all were you doing in Serbia?”

“I told you, I had to unravel Moriarty’s crime ring, starting with-”

Molly cut him off with another kiss. Then, to her slight surprise, he lifted her up off her feet and began to walk with her. She responded by wrapping her legs around him and he broke the kiss to ask, “Bedroom?”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

She hung onto him as he carried her down the hall, still kissing her occasionally, until her back hit the soft welcome of his mattress behind her. Sherlock sank down onto it next to her.

“Hold on, there’s something I should do.”

Molly ran back to the other room to find her bag and dig out her phone. When she walked back into Sherlock’s bedroom, he was sitting up on his bed looking confused.

“Don’t worry, just one message I have to send…” she told him, typing furiously.

 

Engagement is off. I’m sorry. I’ll be by to get my stuff tomorrow. 

 

She didn’t hesitate before she hit the send button. Sherlock remained completely still, waiting. Molly was just about to put the phone away again, when it lit back up with an answer already.

 

Fine.

 

That was it. Fine. Why had she stayed with him for so long?

“Molly? Are you okay?”

“Yes, sorry, I’m fine,” she said, trying to shake it off as she tossed her phone to the side on the dresser. Then she looked back at Sherlock sitting shirtless and concerned on his bed, waiting for her. Her Sherlock. Sherlock who respected her and cared about her and valued her as a person. Maybe she had been wrong to stay with someone she didn’t love, who also clearly didn’t love her back. But it had all led her back to this exact moment eventually, and so it was with great happiness that she sank back onto the bed with the one who did love her. He pulled her in to kiss her, their movements growing frantic as their mouths lashed against each other, the sensuality giving way to pure lust. Sherlock’s hands slid down to Molly’s skirt to pull it down, exposing her knickers, at which she giggled. 

He began to kiss her stomach, lovingly working his mouth upwards and trailing his fingers in a parallel up her back to unhook her bra. As it came free, she shuddered and arched her back to him as his lips brushed delicately across her exposed nipple. He reached for her knickers next to tug them down, and Molly glanced over to watch them flutter to the floor in a heap with her other clothes. She was completely exposed in front of the man whose scrutinizing eyes missed no flaw and no imperfection, however when she looked back at him, she didn’t see judgment in his face. He was looking at her with complete and utter adoration. Any fears she had left flew to the ground with her pile of clothes. She leaned up to kiss him again, but let out a gasp before their lips could quite meet, letting her head fall back instead. His long spindling fingers had found their way to the opening between her legs and sunk inside of her working their way around and causing her to squirm. She fell back onto the pillow, letting waves of pleasure begin to wash over her.  
“Oh my god, Sherlock,” she said breathlessly, closing her eyes. “I thought… I thought you’d never done anything like this before.”

“I haven’t,” he murmured, and she opened her eyes and lifted her head to catch him smirk proudly before she fell back again. “But I’ve read up on the subject a few times. Seen a few visual examples.”

“Are you trying to tell me you’ve been watching porn?” Molly asked, and tried to laugh, but was too breathless from Sherlock’s expert finger work to be able to get much out.

“I suppose, but the books are of more help. For example, if I do this,” he crooked his finger forward, jerking it slightly, causing Molly to let out a cry of delight, “That will happen.”

Molly’s breath was coming even faster and shallower as the noises she made grew louder. She could feel herself beginning to reach climax, waiting for the wonderful release of endorphins, but all too soon he’d withdrawn his fingers.

“We can’t have that quite yet, right? I’d like to get in on the fun…”

“Sherlock,” Molly growled, lying still and naked on the bed, her nether regions crying out where they’d been left empty, “Get inside me now.”

She heard the sounds of a zipper being undone and his trousers falling to the floor, followed by his pants. She couldn’t resist sitting up a little to catch a look at his delightfully massive hard-on, feeling slightly pleased with herself. It couldn’t be easy to get a rise out of the great Sherlock Holmes, after all. He ripped a package open to slip a condom over it and she fell back again, allowing him to position himself over her gently. She closed her eyes in expectance, but nothing happened. 

“Sherlock?” she asked, confused. She tentatively opened her eyes again to find him studying her with the utmost concentration. 

“Sherlock what the hell?”

“I’m trying to find the best… angle…”

“Just get it in! It’s not like it’s- ahhhhh…”

Molly’s sentence was cut off with a moan as in one swift motion Sherlock had plunged into her, filling her opening entirely and sending her every nerve ending into a frenzy. He sat back up, positioning himself more directly as he drew out and then moved back in again, a bit slower this time, allowing her to adjust. She breathed deeply. He leaned back over her as he began more of a rocking motion, his arms closing her in on either side. She pulled one arm free to reach it over her head, as the feel of him inside her grew even sweeter. She was omitting small moans with almost every breath now. Sherlock reached up to grip her free wrist, pinning it to the bed, and drew one of her legs upward with his other hand to deepen his thrusts. This time Molly couldn’t help but let out a full cry, bucking against him in response. After a few minutes, their movements began to lose rhythm as the bed rocked increasingly harder. Sherlock moaned in Molly’s ear in response to her own cries which were flying from her vocal chords quickly, and seemingly beyond her control at this point.

She could feel the pleasure center building below, increasing in intensity until she thought she might not bear it anymore, and then finally with a cry and a final wave of ecstasy she felt the beautiful release wash over her. A few seconds later, Sherlock’s frantic rocking began to calm, and he slowed to a stop to draw out of her, breathing hard. They lay there next to each other, catching their breaths. Molly stared up at the ceiling, hardly daring to believe what had just happened. Then, with lingering trepidation, turned her head to look over at Sherlock. She found him already facing her, a smile glowing on his face as he gazed at her adoringly; a smile that reached all the way up to fill his eyes completely. Relieved, she smiled back.  
“Well this is new,” he murmured in his beautiful baritone. “You know, I’m beginning to think some knowledge in the area of sexual activities might not be so useless after all.”

“Oh shut up. You’re ridiculous, Sherlock Holmes.”

“You’re beautiful, Molly Hooper.”

He leaned in to kiss her again, and then put an arm around her to pull her close, his eyes beginning to flutter and droop in tiredness. The sun had set hours ago. Molly could feel herself beginning to fall away from consciousness too, wrapped warmly in Sherlock’s arms and more content than she could remember ever being. The last things she heard before she drifted off were seven words from Sherlock’s sleepy mouth.  
“We really must do this again.”


End file.
